


Pillow Talk

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Asexual Character, Backrubs, Best Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pillow Talk, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Discussions, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: After hitting the showers, it's only natural for two secret agents to sleep with each other.A direct sequel to"Shower Thoughts".





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I lied about that being a one shot... Despite the cheeky description this is just as de-sexualized as [the previous installment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6672862), which you should read for context if you haven't.

         “Noooo wayyy. This has been your room all along?” Deacon said in awe as he stepped into the once locked chamber. His stubbled jaw hung slightly slack like he’d unearthed a tomb full of treasure.

         “Yeah they kind of just gave it to me after I helped them out.” She shrugged. “It could probably be put to better use but, I guess they think of it as incentive for me to keep coming back for trade.”

         “Come to papa...”  Deacon staggered towards the laundered cushy bed and flopped down face first. He moaned into the sheets.

         “Have you never slept in a pre-war bed?”

         “No,” his muffled voice replied. She chuckled as she set her pack in the corner. He lifted his head and propped it up. “OK. The plan was gonna be bug out and find a safe place to hunker down but... I don’t think I can pass up an opportunity like this,” he said, peering at her over his shades.

         “Well Deacon, sometimes you just gotta throw plans out the window and live in the moment for once.”

         “That’s how people get killed.” He pointed a finger at her, “But... these sheets smell like flowers, so... maybe just once.”

         “Well you know what doesn’t smell like flowers? Most of our clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m thinkin’ we should take this opportunity to wash those too.”

         “Like... in a _machine_?”

         “Yep.”

         “ _Woah._ ” He whispered. She laughed. Deacon scowled, cheeks flushing. “Well excuse me Miss Hoity-Toity pre-war ‘I owned a laundry machine and a car and never got dysentery’.”

         “Dysentery?” she balked.

         “I don’t even wanna talk about it.”

         “Well if you think washers are so cool, maybe when Sturges finally rigs one up you can launder my clothes _all the time_.”

         “I know you’re being facetious... but hell yeah.”

         “Well if _you’re_ being facetious I’m still gonna hold you to your word,” she said dumping their balled up clothes into a cardboard box.

         ---

         The silent Vault echoed with each step she took. There was a surrealness to wandering the well-lit passages in such a state. All it’s blue-suited inhabitants had seemed to have gone to bed, as the the corridors and commons were deserted, devoid of even guards.

          Except _the one,_ who usually manned the door at night, apparently getting a midnight snack. He gave her a look that seemingly questioned how a woman of her stature could make so much noise. She replied with an apologetic grimace and slipped off her heavy-soled shoes. Despite having a room she was merely a guest in this shelter, and here she was walking around like she owned the place. But she always found liminal spaces exciting and thankfully this one wasn't filled with skeletons.

         She dumped the clothes and selected the quick wash. She sat down and flipped through a fraying pre-war magazine. Cover story was some old propaganda about Anchorage. Her home time had its problems, enough to end civilization entirely, but damn if everything back then wasn’t so convenient.

         Had she arrived in this world through much different circumstances, Vault 81 would seem like a paradise she’d never wish to leave. But instead she felt claustrophobic, antsy like an animal afraid the cage door would snap shut.

         She found herself wondering if people she knew from before had found shelter. If they lived out the rest of their days in a Vault as she slept, or instead were subjected to one of Vault-Tec’s unethical experiments like she. Though, forced refrigeration seemed so damn benign compared to the heinous human testing she’d read about while looting other shelters.

         Being alone made her sad. Sadness made her hungry. Maybe she’d take a leaf from the guard and get a midnight snack for herself.

         Hopefully Deacon was having a good time.

         ---

         Deacon had already tucked himself into bed. He had a pile of pillows behind his head, reading a pristine pre-war book, and an empty chip container sat discarded in the wastebasket.

         “Well looks like you made yourself at home,” she commented.

         “Oh my god, boss, this is _heaven_ ,” he said suddenly as if he’d been dying to tell her. “I’ve got books, AC, I’m on a big fluffy cloud. My best friend just did my laundry.”

         She laughed and then eyed him suspiciously. “Do I wanna know if you’re naked under there?”

         “Good question. Do you really wanna know?”

         “No,” she said, tossing him some fresh underclothes. “I prefer a bit of mystery in my life.”

         “Being this clean is amazing,” he said, pulling on the shirt. “I almost feel _lighter_.”

         “Not being caked in dirt was kind of the standard once upon a time,” she said.

         “So civilized,” he replied as he wiggled into his underwear beneath the sheets.

         “How’s your book?”

         “It’s alright. Subject matter is a lil backwards, but what can we expect from the twentieth century? We wastelanders may have unwashed faces, but at least we treat women like people.”

         “Yeah, you’ve dehumanized an _entirely new_ subset of folks. Congrats.”

         “I never said we were _good_ people,” Deacon scoffed sarcastically. “Problematic material aside, I’m just jazzed this book has all it’s pages.”

         She laid across the foot of the bed and began stretching languidly. Raising her arms over her head was more difficult than anticipated. She hit resistance, like her joints were locked. She felt old. Felt all her two hundred years.

         She cautiously moved her neck from side to side. Her gaze moved around the room, and fell upon Deacon, staring at her from over his glasses.

         She raised her brows expectantly.

         “You still want that back rub?” he asked.

         “If you’re still offering.”

         “Buddy, I’m a man of my word.” He smirked before closing his book.

         She sat up happily, previously unaware he’d been so serious about the offer. She’d been longing for a massage for _ages --_ if memory served, even since her first week out in the wastes.

         “There’s two ways we can do this; Through your clothes like we didn’t just shower together, or shirt off like this is a 5 star spa kind of deal.”

         “I’ll take the spa package.”

         “Excellent choice, ma’am.” She pulled her tank top off over her head, and scooched back into Deacon's crossed legs. “Oh yeah, you’ve got some bruises, bud. I’ll try to work around those for you.”

         He started by thumbing lightly at her shoulder blades, and then ran firm lines down the sides of her spine.

         She gasped unexpectedly.

         “Alright?”

         “Yeah. Awesome.”

         “Aw you’re so soft now, like a wittle baby,” he teased, brushing his knuckles along her. “Not a dry-skin monster anymore.”

         “Shut up.”

         “Rude.”

         “You’re rude.”

         He continued to work up and down her back, making small circles with his thumbs that made her tired and fuzzy. She hadn’t felt sensations this satisfying in what now seemed like lifetimes ago.

         “God,” She moaned, “Your hands were built for this.”

         “Really?”

         “Yeah. Strong, warm, and surprisingly soft. It's nice.”

         “Well guess I'll add that to my résumé.”

         Maybe his story about once being a masseuse wasn’t all just bull. She was absentmindedly humming and groaning as he kept hitting long-aching muscles so perfectly.

         “You gotta keep it down or people are gonna think something else is going on.” Deacon laughed.

         “They can't hear us. These walls are metal,” she parried.

         “Alright well if you’re wrong _you'll_ be the one answering for it, not me. I was never even here.”

         His fingers got preoccupied to a spot on her upper back. She tried her best to stifle any more noise, huffing and hissing, but still the groans escaped.

         “That is one gnarly knot, boss. You want me to pulverize it for you?”

         “Now is the chance. It's not like I'm gonna have to sleep on the cold hard ground tonight.”

         “Lie down on your stomach, then. I'm gonna need a little leverage here,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

         She obeyed and he knelt over her. He began putting his weight into it, using gravity to his advantage. It hurt slightly but she could feel the tension that had been sitting there for weeks finally loosen. The positive rush of endorphins hit every so often, counterbalancing each twinge of discomfort.

         She started cursing with every push. Deacon eased back.

         “No, don't stop,” she moaned.

         “You're _dirty_ ,” he teased.

         “I'm sorry my yelps of pain are such a turn on for you.”

         Deacon snorted. “Hey, _you're_ the sadist, remember?” He paused. “Oh god, are you _actually_ a sadist?”

         She cackled. “Ugh no... I mean, I don't think so.”

         “Yikes, you _are_ dirty.”

         “Does that make you a masochist then?”

         “Well I mean I gotta be to run with you, right?”

         “Tell me a kink,” she dared, as if it were a slumber party. “It doesn't have to be sexual.”

         Deacon paused.

         “True love and understanding.”

         “Fuck, that's hot,” she said in agreement.

         “I know, right,” he chuckled. “And I think I figured out one of yours.”

         “... What?”

         “This one right here in your neck,” he said, pressing the taut muscle. She groaned into the mattress as Deacon's knuckle worked it out. “You’re gonna be so sore.”

         “I know. Luckily we’re almost home free,” she sighed. “Then I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

         “Wait, did I not tell you? We have another run coming up.”

         “What?” she asked, slightly panicked. “Really?”

         “No,” he said flatly. “But we _could_. Gotta stay on your toes.”

         “Even my toes are sore.”

         "Do you want a foot rub too?"

         "No, I'm too ticklish," she replied meekly.

         "Good, your feet are gross."

         "Oh that's a relief I was thinking you had a foot fetish."

         "Is it a foot fetish if you really like nice shoes?"

         "Like, looking at them or when there's feet in them?"

         "Both. Especially heels. I look good in heels."

         She giggled. "I cannot walk in heels."

         "I can _run_ in heels,” he boasted. “I can teach you."

         "And I can teach you to tie shoes."

         "Listen, I--" He sighed, then paused, " _Shut up_." She laughed. " _Anyway_ , if you did want a foot rub, I'd do that for you. Because that’s what besties do. They overlook their friend's disgusting feet."

         "Are my feet really that gross?"

         "I'm joking. They're adorable, albeit huge." She kicked him in the back lightly. “Woah, did you just hit me with a paddle? You’re just proving my point.”

         “I wish I had a paddle to beat you with.”

         “See? A sadist,” he hissed.

         She tried to come up with a retort but her mind went into a sort of trance as he started running lighter strokes along her back. Not digging into the muscles as much as soothing her. Her eyes felt heavy and she took deep satisfied breaths, the room melting around her.

         “OK, now _I’m_ exhausted.” Deacon chuckled.

         She blinked her eyes open, feeling a tad sluggish. She wondered if she’d dozed off.

         He helped her ease up as to not put too much strain on the parts he’d just worked out. She slowly leaned against him until her back was against his chest. His arm rested against her collarbone, and his palm cupped her shoulder. With anyone else this would have been strange. She would’ve felt so _exposed_.

         But it was so nice feeling warm skin against her own again.

         “Thanks,” she said quietly.

         “I always got your back,” he quipped.

         “ _Ugh_.”

         He couldn’t just let things be. She put her tank back on with a resigned sigh. She heard him chuckle, pleased with himself, as he laid back down. She turned back and met his gaze directly.

         "It's still unnerving making eye contact with you," she said.

         Deacon raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather me wear my sunglasses in bed?" He quickly grabbed them off the table and put them on, then laid his head on the pillow. "There."

         "You look ridiculous."

         "What's new?”

         She gently removed the shades from his face. As his eyes were revealed again he averted his gaze, as if he were the one unnerved this time. She always forgot they were blue, lined with thick light lashes. The fine lines and crow's feet made him look much older than he was. Then again, she had no idea how old he was to begin with. He had a youthful energy but as far as she knew he was just a very spry senior citizen.

         “You don’t have to hide from me,” she said softly.

         “Don’t take it personally.”

         “I’m not. I understand. But I just want you to know.”

         “Can we... turn off the lights?” Deacon asked tentatively, “These fluorescents, or whatevers, they’re way harsh on my _fragile eyeballs_ ,” he added.

         She gave a laugh as she got up, ambling to the light switch. Once the light went out she realized she was blind in the dark and didn’t know the room well. As she made her way back her knee hit the edge of the mattress and she toppled over, landing on Deacon’s chest.

         “Oof. Easy bud.”

         “Sor---”

         He tickled her as she crawled across him.

         “No! You jerk!” she shouted, slapping his hands away.

         “You landed on me, it’s only fair,” he said as she got under the covers with a huff.

         She laid down facing him, hoping he could sense the dirty look she was giving him. Her fault for revealing sensitive information to the intel guy.

         “Hey boss?”

         “Hmm.”

         “You’re my fave.”

         He nuzzled noses with her. She felt her cheeks turn pink, surprised at how affectionate he was being. Perhaps the darkness made him feel bolder.

         She too made an impulsive choice. She ran her fingers behind his ear, then up and down his scalp. He responded with a satisfied noise.

         “No one’s touched me like that in forever,” he mused.

         “I can do it more often, if you want.”

         “R-Really?”

         “Yeah. I just never did 'cause... well, I wasn’t sure if I should or... how you’d interpret it.” She smiled as he rolled his head, giving her easier access. “But not that we’re on the same page... why not?”

         “I’d lie and say something like ‘you don’t have to’, but I know you’d call my bluff, so I’ll just say _God yes please_.” She laughed. “It gets itchy under that wig, I should’ve had you do this a long time ago.”

         “From now on, you just say the word, bud.”

         He brushed his fingers fondly against her shoulder.

         “Staying here isn’t _so_ bad...” Deacon said. “I mean, think about it; Another bomb could fall right now and I'd be safe and sound in this bed with my favorite agent.”

         “What if it sealed the Vault? You wouldn’t mind being trapped?”

         “It’d just be a forced retirement.” He shrugged. “Just imagine it... generation after generation, with my strong Irish genes in play? Before you’d know it there’d be a whole Vault of gingers.”

         She snorted. “You talk about having kids a lot.”

         “Do I?”

         “What, you don’t count grumbling about radiation affecting your prospects of fatherhood as such?”

         “I mean... It... It’s a pipe dream left over from my old life I think,” he said, sounding slightly despondent.

         Something strange popped into her head. Sudden, impulsive, but that still just felt _right_.

         “Hey... if I find Shaun... I want you to be his godparent.”

         Deacon was silent, not even breathing. Her stomach squirmed waiting for a response, hoping she hadn’t misjudged.

         “That's a... really big thing,” he finally said softly. “You should think about it more-- maybe _when_ we find him...”

         “Well, title aside... I think he’d really love a guy like you around.”

         “Aw. Boss,” he replied, though not cloyingly.

         “Either way, you’ll probably be adopted as ‘Weird Uncle Deacon’ whether you like it or not.”

         He laughed. “It’ll take a big adjustment, but I could see myself embarrassing some children.”

         “An adjustment?”

         “I've trained a few intel kids but, y’know, I don't get attached. We're disposable. _Super_ disposable. Like... I'm only still around because I've perfected the art of being nobody.”

         "Do you have a name? Like, a real name?"

         "Well... yeah."

         “Am I, your best friend, privy to that info?”

         “No.”

         “Why not?” she huffed, feeling slighted.

         "It’s nothing _personal_ , bud. That guy is, well, dead. He's not me anymore, you know? I like being Deacon. Deacon's a better guy than he-who-will-not-be-named ever was.”

         “Well... I like him too,” she said, rubbing his scalp more vigorously.

         “ _Mmmmm_ , good because he’s stickin’ around.”

         She began zoning out, feeling a tad sleepy like she had, and just grateful to be touching another person again. Deacon gave a sigh that sounded more pensive than relieved.

         “What’s up?” she asked gently.

         “I’ve been having... weird thoughts lately.”

         “Weird thoughts?” she asked, feeling slightly concerned.

         “Like... _fantasies_ almost.” He swallowed. “Of being in some secluded place, by the ocean. Sitting on a dock with fishing poles and nets all lined up. Or just me digging in a garden again. Letting my hair grow out, seeing how grey I’ve gotten.”

         “Why is that weird?”

         “‘Cause I was at peace with the fact that I'd die alone, on the job. My luck finally running out and someone putting a bullet in my brain. Now I... I dunno how this is gonna end. The future isn’t just death, I can... I can see life.” He looked at her tentatively in the dim room. “And I have you to thank for that.”

         “Deacon,” she whispered, not sure what to say. She was honored that she could give something so profound back to someone who had brought so much laughter into her life.

         “I don’t think I’ll ever be in a relationship again but---”

         “You don’t consider _this_ a relationship?”

         He paused. “Our _friendship_?”

         “Yeah. A friendship is a relationship.”

         “I... Y-yeah. I guess you’re right,” he said in an awed tone.

         Deacon pulled her closer. She curled up against his chest and sighed, feeling any remaining tension melt away. She was secure in his arms. The knowledge that he didn’t want anything other than her friendship made the closeness easier.

         “I didn’t know I could feel this way, about anyone,” she said. “So thanks.”

         “Mmm your hair is soft,” he said, mussing it up and running it between his fingers. It felt almost like a deflection, but she didn’t mind.

         “Maybe when you get your beach house and grow your hair out, I’ll play with yours too.”

         “Yeah, you could even braid it for me.”

         She laughed against his shoulder.

         The sheets were cool to the touch, but Deacon radiated warmth. She could feel him running his bare feet along the soft fabric. His toes swept up against her own and, after a few cautious brushes, they slowly interlocked their ankles.

         “I always wanted a friend like you,” he said. “Kind of thought it was impossible after... everything.”

         Deacon was being remarkably candid. He’d been conditioning her to doubt every personal detail he’d offered about himself, but surely he wouldn’t be lying about caring about her. They’d built such trust over their travels. Deacon could lie about his past all he wanted, but being dishonest about his feelings would be cruel. And she knew cruelty was not in his nature.

         Maybe this wasn’t such a strange development, but a natural progression of deep friendship. After all, she never thought she’d be naked in front of him.

         “God it sounds stupid, but sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and tell you it’s going to be OK, even when it’s not.”

         “That’s not stupid at all,” she said gently.

         “Fuck... this is just...” He took a couple breaths. “Is this what is was like? Before the war?”

         “Well, this _is_ a Vault---”

         “No, not just the stuff, I mean _on top of it._ Being, like... _secure_. Like no one’s gonna slit your throat in your sleep. Or... raiders are gonna attack the farm. And this soft warm bed too, I mean... I didn’t know this kind of comfort existed.”

         “I guess this just feels... normal,” she said, her heart breaking a bit. It seemed like such a basic thing; a human necessity. But unlike Deacon, she hadn’t spent her entire life in a world this harsh.

         He inhaled sharply. “Shit. Sorry.”

         “It’s OK, don’t be sorry.”

         This was a sort of role reversal for her. Deacon was the one soothing her anxieties time and time again, turning her tears of anguish to ones of laughter. He had never really given her an opportunity to do the same, always deadpanning, everything locked up tight.

         “I... I haven’t felt safe like this in a long time,” he blurted out in a half-whisper, emotions getting the best of him. He swallowed hard like he was mortified.

         She ran her hand along his chest. She knew about his paranoia, she knew he was afraid to get too close to people. Both made him good at his job but shit at relationships.

         “Me neither,” she whispered. It was true, but for a different reason that Deacon’s.

         She felt safe like she had with no other man. It was all a tad confusing. Her feelings for him weren’t romantic at all. But still, she did things with him she once only thought possible with her husband. Sharing a bed, spooning, showering, shirtless massages -- things that at their core were not sexual nor romantic, but she’d been conditioned to think so.

         If she wanted she could lay here, nude, pressed against him and still feel that everything between them would stay chaste. Something about it was absolutely liberating.

         Deacon’s breathing quickened again, slightly laboured, as if he was trying to hold it back.

         She nuzzled at his jaw fondly. It was stubbly and prickled. She felt one of his tears drip onto her skin, and her own eyes watered empathically.

         She gave him a peck on his cheek.

         “Ah jeez, boss,” he said, voice creaking with gratitude. He scratched her scalp in a way that was as if he were trying to express all his feelings through his fingertips.

         She could feel the pulse at his throat against her lips, seeming to calm with each second.

         “We’ll be friends forever right?” Deacon asked.

         “No matter what.”

         “Cool...” he breathed.

         ---

         Music blared over the tinny Vault loudspeakers, a jaunty jazzy ditty she had heard many times before. It was an intrusion but it kept her oriented and not under the hazy notion that she was back in her pre-war bed. She groaned; she couldn’t even recall falling asleep.

         “What is that?” Deacon said, sitting up in bed. She knew the alarm bells must be ringing in his paranoid mind.

         “That’s how they wake up people,” she replied groggily, pulling a pillow over her head.

         “Damn, people are awake? We should’ve left when--”

         She lifted the pillow with a sigh. “Just sneak out during the breakfast rush. I might get mobbed, but you can escape OK.”

         “I... I guess.”

         “Here.” She tried to tug him back down. “Just lay with me for a sec.”

         “I dunno if that’s--”

         “Please,” she said softly.

         Deacon stared down at her, his freckled brow furrowed in tense contemplation, as if he was presented with a riddle rather than a request. So much of what they did together went against everything he’d trained himself for. Railroad agents didn’t ‘ _sleep in’,_ nor did they do _anything_ for themselves. But the deep-set lines and heavy circles under the eyes he hid told the story of a world weary man; one who’d been denying himself rest for far too long.

         He slowly laid back down with a dizzy expression like his exhaustion was rapidly catching up with him. She closed her eyes, feeling satisfied that she’d won herself a few more hours, and that her stubborn secret agent listened to her for once.

         Before she knew it, Deacon wrapped his arm around her and rested his face against her shoulder. She turned her neck slightly to lay her cheek on his forehead, feeling snug and warm in her best friend’s embrace.

         ---

         “Hey boss,” Deacon said, after an unknown amount of time.

         “Not yet,” she mumbled. She was still in his hold, and she didn’t want to escape the pocket of warmth.

         “Yeah... C’mon,” he urged.

         “No,” she replied.

         “If you don’t…” She made a noise of dismissal. He gave a heavy sigh. “Y’know... I hate to do this,” he said gravely.

         She squinted up at him.

         He began tickling her. She kicked and fought instinctively as if something more dire than simple juvenile shenanigans were occurring, like she always had since childhood.

         “NO! I hate it!” she yelled, suddenly waking up fully.

         Deacon halted, but hovered his hands threateningly. “You slept long enough.”

         “I take back everything I said last night; I hate you.”

         “Oh please. You adore me.”

         “Unfortunately,” she sniffed at him.

         “You wanna be a good agent? You can’t get used to luxury.”

         “So this is our last night here together?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

         “I... I didn’t say _that,_ ” he replied. She gave him a triumphant smirk and he hastily pushed his sunglasses back onto his face. “Get your ass up, boss, we’re on a time sensitive mission,” he said, peeking between the window blinds.

         Deacon the agent was back, antsy as ever, and who truly knew when the raw form of the man behind the shades would return.

         The silently got dressed with the same urgency as the would if they were out on the field, danger lurking anywhere. It was the headspace where Deacon always lived, except in the few moments she could coax him into something softer, like her arms.

         “All this bleeding heart bullshit stays sealed up in this Vault, mmkay?” he said, picking up his pack. “I have an image to uphold. A brand, if you will.”

         “Alright. But before we go...” She blocked the door, “Can I say one last thing?”

         “Shoot.”

         “I love you, Deak.”

         His face went blank, but then a smile slowly spread across it.

         He opened his arms for a hug. She obliged, caught by surprised.

         “Psych,” he said once his arm was firmly around her, and then noogied her.

         “Ugh, you ass,” she laughed into his chest. It wasn’t quite a trick; he was still holding her tight.

         “Don’t ever make me cry again, you monster,” he teased, and then planted a firm kiss atop her head.

         Deacon didn’t need to say the L-word; He had his own language, one which she was slowly but surely becoming fluent in. And she felt his affection just as much as if he were warbling the words saccharinely in her ear.

         Her new life in this wasteland was full of surprises; some horrifying, some exhilarating. But today there was a fulfillment in her she’d never experienced before. She finally had the kind of best friend she spent her whole life dreaming about.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically I kind of wrote this for my friend but because the previous one got an unexpected amount of love I decided to finish this up for you guys. Thanks for being lovely. I've got another ongoing Fallout 4 series, if you're into that, and a certain spy will be a player in it eventually.


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